


Damage

by underground_archivist



Category: Labyrinth (1986)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-04
Updated: 2012-06-04
Packaged: 2020-07-30 10:40:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20095936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/underground_archivist/pseuds/underground_archivist
Summary: Damage: n. Harm or injury to property or a person, resulting in loss of value of the impairment of usefulness.  RATED MA FOR: violence, abuse, loss, adult language, situations, and agnst.  JxS - Death doesn't take a holiday, but neither does Jareth.





	Damage

**Author's Note:**

> Note from banshee, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Underground](https://fanlore.org/wiki/Underground_\(Labyrinth_archive\)) and was moved to the AO3 as part of the Open Doors project in 2019. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are the creator and would like to claim this work, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Underground’s collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/underground/profile).
> 
> I own absolutely NOTHING pertaining to Labyrinth. All things The Labyrinth are the property of Jim Henson and Co.

  
Author's notes: _This is dark, and twisted, and just the way I like it, but that means it might not be for everyone. The first chapter will definitely be one of the worst, for sure, but it will definitely show you what I mean about dark and twisty. If you don't like mature stories that involve anything dark, don't proceed. Major abuse: Physical, mental, perhaps even sexual. Death doesn't take a holiday here. BUT, I promise, Karma is on tap as well._

_Disclaimer: I do not own The Labyrinth or its characters. Anyone else in here is of my own creation._

_Thanks as always to my beta, JHaines!_  


* * *

"Well, _that_ was the most boring thing I've had to endure in a long time." John said as he entered the foyer of his home and ripped his jacket off. He threw it at the brunette behind him and it hit her in the face.

As she collected his jacket she winced. _I hope I haven't gotten mascara on it, he'd kill me_, Sarah thought as she examined it carefully. She wanted to yell, she wanted to tell him how cruel he was. That no matter how much she inwardly imagined that he looked like _him_, she wished he'd leave her alone. This was just another evil, hateful thing to add to the list of horrors she had endured since they'd married. 

"How lucky it was all at one time, I mean, if I had to endure another of your family's funerals I'd hang myself." He sneered and glared at her when fresh tears welled in her eyes. His short blonde hair, perfectly short and brushed to the side was nearly white and his blue eyes pierced her every time he looked at her. His mouth was in a devilish sneer all the time. She wanted to take a stand, to leave, but...it was too terrifying.

"John, my whole family died in that crash. How can you say something like that?" She envisioned her voice being stronger, more demanding. It came out as a plea, as if she was begging, but she didn't know what she was begging for.

His face twisted in anger and he took two giant steps and was in front of her. He stared at her for a moment and then smiled. She felt slightly relieved, but not enough to be unguarded. In another second he snatched the hair at the nape of her neck and twisted, making her head fall back as she winced. "I did that for you, because I love you. You make it seem like I don't care at all, Sarah. You know what happens when you force me to show you how much I love you." He bit the side of her neck and she screamed, she felt the skin give and felt warmth trickle down.

"How many times do I have to show you? I leave love bites and marks and yet you still can't see it." He shook his head and released her, pushing her back with so much force that the wind was knocked out of her.

"Get changed and make me dinner."

"We ate after the funeral." She whimpered as she rubbed her neck and saw the bit of blood on her fingertips.

"_You_ ate, you cow. _I_ didn't eat any of that slop. Now, make me my dinner or I'll have to make you." He snarled and stomped to his office down the hall.

Sarah gathered up her husband's jacket and hung it, along with hers in the foyer closet. Once she had then hung nicely she hurried up the stairs to change out of her black dress. Her father, step Mother and little brother, Toby had been traveling home from a visit with them and had been run off the highway by a drunk driver. The car spun and flipped and the paramedics had said they probably died instantly. That didn't help her sleep at night, and to make matters worse she blamed herself.

_If I wasn't so afraid of what John would have done I would have traveled to them more often. It's bad enough that my father was convinced John was beating me. . ._ Her family came to visit as often as they could, and Toby being eleven, was old enough to get the picture when his sister could never come over and had random injuries or bruises all the time. He would beg to stay weekends saying he wanted to spend time with his sister, but knew that if she was there it would be almost impossible for John to hurt her.

So he thought.

So she thought.

The night they were killed Sarah's father, Robert had a discussion with John in the office. Sarah didn't know what that discussion was about - completely - but she got the gist of it when voices were raised and Robert threatened John. She had burst in the room to protect her husband, that loved her and didn't know how to show it right. The fact that she was defending this monster broke Robert's heart and he packed up his family and left without a backwards glance.

Sarah thought John would be happy that she stuck up for him, but he was furious that she had stuck her nose into somewhere that it didn't belong. He berated her for hours and as his fist connected with her face, breaking her nose for being nosy so he said, the phone rang. Her parents had protected her one last time.

_"You're lucky you've got to show face soon. No one needs to know that you're a bad girl. Had this not happened I would have given you more to cry about." He spat as he hung up the phone._

_"What happened?" Sarah asked, her voice muffled from the gush of blood and swelling of her nose._

_"Your stupid fucking family just died in a car wreck. Get upstairs and get me the number for a good funeral home. I need this done and over with. The quicker it's all set, the quicker we get our money, and the quicker they're in the ground and we can move on."_

That's how Sarah found out about her family's tragic accident. Today she put them in the ground. Tomorrow she'd have to hide her grief because 'there is no reason to dwell on the dead when you've got a living breathing husband to take care of her'. 

She put on a green fleece sweat suit and brushed her hair out, putting it in a ponytail, it would be easier to cook with her hair out of her face. When she wiped her smudged make up off she whimpered. John bought her the best of everything, especially concealer. Her black and blue nose and eyes were turning an ugly green and yellow as they healed slowly. No one had a clue they were there all day, but now they were staring her in the face and she deflated. 

There was absolutely no way out of this. 

_If you turn it this way and look into it, it will show you your dreams. . ._

Sarah shook her head. That was a long time ago and she'd given up all hope of ever talking to her friends again, let alone getting her dreams.Staring into the mirror she had a fleeting thought to call on one of her friends, but knew that if John heard her - answered or not - he'd lock her away. He'd threatened to before when one night a few months after they'd wed she told him the whole story about her time in the Underground.

_"What color do you want to paint the nursery?" John asked, bringing her a glass of non-alcoholic wine, he was drinking scotch. Sarah absentmindedly rubbed her small, swollen belly with a smile._

_"Actually, I was thinking of hiring an artist, see I had this crazy experience when I was a teenager. . ." She told him the whole story from wishing Toby away to refusing her dreams and his face turned from amusement to fury when she insisted it was true._

_He stood quickly and wrenched her up by her neck in one swift movement. He'd been short with her before, even shoved her around a little, but never had he done anything like this. _

_"You're fucking nuts, you know that? Who the hell would want you to have a baby? And here I thought you were perfect for me, you're just a god damn lunatic!" He dragged her by her throat to the stairs and glared at her. "You don't get the privilege of having my child." And he kicked her in the stomach so hard she flew down the stairs, skidding to a stop on her stomach on the landing._

_After the initial few seconds the shock wore off and Sarah curled into the fetal position, her stomach cramping and her body sore. She sat up, trying to keep the room from spinning and when she finally went to stand, she slipped. As she looked down her face contorted from pain to absolute horror as she realized exactly what she slipped on._

_Blood._

_My baby. . ._

Sarah shook her head to rid herself of the horrible scenes to come. The doctor's grim looks, his accusations, her husband explaining it all away. The news that her baby was gone. The painful recovery from her D&C. The harsh words John spit at her daily after that. Baby killer, that was his favorite.

"Sarah, what did I say? Get the fuck down here and start cooking. I better smell something good in the next fifteen minutes or I'm going to cook myself." He screamed.

She shook and flexed her hands. She wouldn't even think about that one, it was too much today.

Heading down the stairs in her house shoes she walked into the very large open kitchen. John sat at the island with a tumbler of scotch, his eyes following her as she began working. "How about something Italian tonight?" She asked, her voice raspy.

"Fine." He grumbled and she went to the freezer to take out some frozen lasagna that she'd made last week.

"I hope you don't mind, but I am exhausted. You enjoyed this last week, right? I froze some to save for you." She smiled and showed him the container. His eyes flashed in anger and she started to shake.

"Did I not tell you to cook me something? Or are you deaf? Perhaps just stupid, that's it. Something you throw in the toaster oven or microwave isn't considered a cooked meal to me. Must I explain everything to you, draw you a god damn diagram? Are you that fucking retarded that you can't comprehend easy English?" He was on her, ripping the container out of her hand and throwing it across the room. He grabbed her again by the hair and smashed her face into the counter where the island top electric stove was. He cranked the heat up to high and watched as a red circle appeared on the porcelain top.

"This is cooking, Sarah. Using a stove!" He yanked her sleeve up and smashed her forearm over the red hot surface. She began to scream and fight, but he had one arm on the back of her neck and the other holding her arm flush with the burner. "Cooking, you stupid bitch!"

He threw her back and turned the stove off, the smell of burnt flesh permeating the room. She lay in the fetal position on the kitchen tiles and as he stalked up to her he began kicking her repeatedly, scooting her around the room on the polished floor. "How many times do I have to explain myself to you? Huh?" He stopped his kicking and reached down with both hands and yanked her up by her hair. Her hands flew up trying to scratch at his fingers to make him let go.

She could barely see, her left eye was swollen shut and she could taste blood in her mouth. Her arm throbbed and burned so hot that it felt like frost bite and she began to shake. She knew she'd be going into shock at any moment, but she didn't seem to worry too much about that, considering this time he was probably going to kill her.

If not, he was a general surgeon, she he could put her back together.

"Go ahead, call that fucker. You say his name enough in your sleep. Maybe he'll come save you now." John sneered and started choking her. 

"Come on!"

Sarah began gasping, she was trying to say the words, any words, just to get him to back off, but she could barely breath much less say anything.

"Fucking say it! I wish the goblins would come to take you away right now! SAY IT!" He screamed and as her vision began to fade she thought she heard the faint tinkling of a crystal hitting the tile floor.

~D~

John felt her body go limp and let her go. He knew if he kept her from oxygen for too long she'd die, and he didn't want that, yet. He did love her, he just couldn't take how angry she'd make him. As he surveyed the damage he realized he'd either have to steal from the hospital or run a very great chance of getting caught. She needed stitches, skin grafts, and perhaps a few IVs of fluids. 

"Fuck. . ." He groaned. "Look at what you made me do." He looked at all of the blood spattering the counter, stove, and floor. "Better get a mop. This is the last time I'm cleaning up after you."

"What have you done?" John stopped dead in his tracks as a melodic English accented male voice pierced the room. He took a deep breath and turned to see where the voice was coming from. This shit can't be real, he thought as he stared at the exact man Sarah had described to him a year ago.

"Get out of my house." John's voice shook a little from the adrenaline.

"Someone wished someone away here. I must collect the wish-away." Jareth, in all of his glory stood there in the kitchen. The island obstructed his view from the unconscious Sarah on the floor. He only saw some blood and John, who was sweating, breathing hard, and his hands were stained red. He had a bad feeling about this one. As he gazed around the island as far as he could without really moving he saw a wisp of dark brown hair.

"Have you killed someone?" He asked, trying to keep himself composed. It was one thing to deal with death and killing if he knew about it first, being surprised was not one of his most favorite things.

"No, but here's your wish-away. I've got to get this shit cleaned up. Take her, I don't care." John waved the Goblin King off and turned to the laundry room where the mop and bucket were stored.

Jareth, for his part, moved about the kitchen hyper away of the blood. He didn't need to leave any trace of his existence in a mess like this. As he came around the island a young woman came into view. She was lying on her back, her legs tucked up under her, one arm by her side, the other over her swollen, bleeding face, this arm injured severely. Her dark mahogany hair was fanned out about her head, concealing her face from his view as well.

"This is not a child." Jareth gritted out. The smell of burnt flesh and blood stinging his nose. "Not that I don't wish to free her from this torture what makes you think I would just take an adult?" He crouched down and attempted to move her hair from her face, but it was matted there. He didn't want to cause her any more pain so he left it.

John's voice carried from the laundry room, "Because she's been there before? What the hell do I care, take her and get rid of her. I don't need her damaging my reputation. No one will even know she's gone, her whole fucking family's dead. It's not like I'm going to go to the cops. Bend the rules this once."

John came marching back into the kitchen, sudsy bucket in hand.

"I don't recognize this woman." Jareth frowned.

"She'll be sad to hear that, considering it's you she calls out to at night, _Jareth_." John's sneer and twinkling eyes incensed the Goblin King. That was, until everything seemed to click into place for him. He looked from John's sadistic grin down to the crumpled body on the floor.

"Sarah!"


End file.
